Ghost Story
by Red Lioness
Summary: Weak in life, Jack Spicer does not rest easily after his untimely death. Basically, I felt like writing a ghost story and Jack got to be my victim. Rated T for Jack's violent, bloody death.
1. To Sleep

"Are you ready to set out the jack-o-lanterns and the pudding, Bao?" Master Yaoh asked. The small, bubbly Chinese girl nodded eagerly. A Dragon of the Wind in training, the small girl showed amazing talent with her elemental power. Bao grabbed a jack-o-lantern nearly as big as she was and headed for the Xiaolin temple's front gate.

"Mike, Greta, Ali, come help us set out the pumpkins!" She called, waddling through the grounds.

The other Dragons in training gathered around slowly. They picked up jack-o-lanterns and followed the small girl, except for the Dragon of the Earth.

"Why zhe pudding?" Greta asked, her words tinted with a distinct German accent. "It iz Halloveen, zo I understand zhe pumpkinz, but why zhe pudding?" The other three dragons stopped and stared at her.

"Oh Greta, you don't know?! The pudding is to keep the ghost satisfied!" Bao announced.

"Zhe ghost?"

"Yes, haven't you heard?" Mike's crisp English accent rolled across the courtyard. "The Xiaolin Temple is haunted by the ghost of Jack Spicer." The Dragon of Water grinned wickedly at the blond girl.

"Jack Zpicer?"

"Do not tell me you have never heard of the legend of Jack Spicer?" Ali asked.

"Oh, we must have a telling of ghost stories!" Bao cried. "After we set out the jack-o-lanterns and the pudding, we should retire to the sleeping chamber and tell the story!"

"How foolish," Ali grumbled. "It is simply a frightening tale for children."

Master Yaoh raised an eyebrow at the Moroccan boy. The teaching monk was still relatively young. In his early thirties, he should have been calm and mature and wise, but he still felt a guilty thrill when he got to knock the Dragon of Fire down a peg or two.

"I assure you, Ali, the story of Jack Spicer's untimely death and haunting of the temple is nothing but the truth."

"If it is the truth, why does Dojo not tell it?" Ali asked, setting his pumpkin down by the temple gates. "He was alive one hundred years ago; if it happened, he should be the one to tell it. He was there."

"Yes, he was there, Ali. That is why he cannot tell it; Dojo knew Jack Spicer and those Xiaolin Dragons personally. It is too painful for him." Master Yaoh smiled. "Set down your jack-o-lanterns, then come into the sleeping chambers." The monk turned and walked back into the temple proper.

Greta placed the cup of pudding between the two largest pumpkins, balancing a spoon on the top.

"Doez it have to be banana pudding?" She asked no one in particular.

The four monks gathered around the central fire pit in the sleeping chamber. The electric lights were off, so that only light was given off by the low fire. The Xiaolin Dragons in training dragged their pillows and blankets out and settled in for a good ghost story. Mike had fortified himself with a bowl of toffee-covered popcorn, which he dealt out generously.

"I am so excited!" Bao exclaimed. "This will be the first time I have heard the whole story of Jack Spicer! Master Yaoh always said I was too young and it was too scary before!"

"I've only heard bits and pieces," Mike said. "This will be the first time I've heard the authorized version."

"Foolish," Ali muttered.

Master Yaoh turned to the assembled Dragons. The fire behind him cast the monk in a disturbing shadow. His voice was cold when he spoke and for a moment, he looked less like Master Yaoh and more like the dangerous warrior he could be.

"Heed my words, young Dragons; not only is this a ghost story, it is a cautionary tale as well. Everything that happened to the Xiaolin Dragons of a hundred years ago was caused by their own carelessness. And their callowness. It all began a week before Halloween . . . ."

"Chase Young, you're going down!" Raimundo cried, pointing a finger at the evil everlord.

"Big words, young monk. Do you truly think the four of you can defeat me?" Chase Young sneered. A few big cats were arrayed behind him, but this was mostly for show. The great Chase Young didn't need help defeating the monks. He knew it and they knew it. The only reason he didn't teleport into the vault and take the Serpent's Tail out from under their very noses was that this way was more entertaining.

"With our Wudai powers and the strength of our bond, we can defeat anything!" Omi declared, puffing out his yellow chest.

"Yeah! So get going before we send you packing!" Kimiko added.

"That's right; mosey on outta here!" Clay piped up.

"I think not; at least, not until I get what I came for."

"Then you should place it upon your skull!" Omi bellowed. There was a long pause. Omi always mangled slang, but this time it was beyond all recognition.

"Oh! I know! He means: be it on your own head!" A new voice cried.

The four monks and Chase Young turned to see Jack Spicer standing in the courtyard of the Xiaolin Temple. The self-proclaimed evil boy genius was either taking advantage of Chase's presence to raid the monk's vault or he had incredible timing. His arms were filled with pilfered Shen-Gong-Wu.

"Jack Spicer?" Omi identified the sometimes-villain by his full name, as was his habit.

"Dude! You're stealing all our wu!" Rai squawked in protest.

"Oh, like you've never raided my house!"

"Spicer? Do you have the Serpent's Tail?" Chase asked.

Jack looked down at the swag in his arms. He was using the Shroud of Shadows as a sort of sling. The Golden Tiger Claws, Orb of Tornami, the Thorn of Thunderbolt and the Shard of Lightning were all on display, with smaller and less obvious wu packed in around them. The distinctive handle of the Serpent's Tail was in plain sight.

"Um . . . . . I don't think so," he tried.

Moments later, Jack was flying across the courtyard from the force of Chase Young's strike. The Serpent's Tail was firmly in the dragon lord's grasp. The stolen wu were scattered across the grounds. Jack rolled upright and started scrabbling around on all fours, grabbing up what Shen-Gong-Wu he could find.

"Well now, that was even easier than I had anticipated," Chase announced with a wicked grin. "I'll take my leave of you now. Try to play nice, children." The Heylin dragon teleported away, taking his jungle cat servants with him. For a minute or so, no one moved. Then, as one, the four Wudai warriors turned to face Jack Spicer.

"Jack!! You waste of oxygen!" Kimiko screamed.

"Because of you, Chase Young will be able to complete his nefarious plan! Er, whatever it is." Omi announced, deflating slightly.

"Spicer, you're about as welcome as a skunk at a garden party!"

"Dude, stop stealing our wu while we insult you!" Raimundo cried.

"Maybe I'm not very popular, but I do have the Shadow Slicer!" Jack raised the wu over his head. "Shadow Slicer! Shadow Slicer! Shadow Slicer! Shadow Slicer!" Spicer continued to activate the wu, filling the courtyard with Jack Spicer copies.

"See you later, Xiaolin losers!" They laughed in unison.

"Not quite! Sword of the Nebula!" Raimundo brought his elemental wu around in a sharp sweep. Typhoon force winds tore through a dozen Jack copies like they were paper dolls.

"Shimo Staff!" Omi extended his ice staff to an unbelievable length, smashing his way through Jack shadows and anything else that happened to be in the way.

"Arrow Sparrow!" Flaming missiles covered the courtyard, setting a few trees on fire, as well as a few Jack shadows.

"Big Bang Meteorang!" The burly cowboy sent his wu tearing through the last of the Jack copies. The boomerang swept back into his hand. "Woo-wee! I guess that's one way to-" Clay suddenly gasped. The Dragon of the Earth stared at his weapon in shock.

"What is it, Clay? Did you - oh my god!" Kimiko threw her hands over her mouth. The Big Bang Meteorang was covered in blood. The monks stared, then looked across the courtyard.

Jack was still upright for the moment. The goth teen was staggering towards the gate, blood gushing down from under his trench coat. He didn't seem to realize what had hit him yet and was simply responding to his instinctive urge to flee. Then his knees buckled as if his strings had been cut.

"Oh mah God . . . Jack!" Clay dropped his bloodstained wu and ran towards the stricken villain. The other monks followed.

Jack Spicer lay in a rapidly spreading pool of blood, limbs twitching restlessly as he tried to figure out what had happened to him. From somewhere, the injured youth found the strength to roll onto his back. Blood was trickling out of the goth teen's mouth. Jack held one blood-stained hand up in front of his face, confusion writ large on his features.

"Jack! Don't try to move, dude, just stay still!" Raimundo cried, pulling open the teenager's trench coat to survey the damage. "Dios mio!"

The Big Bang Meteorang had torn straight through Jack's body. The albino youth's spine had been spared, but there was no way the gaping hole had missed his lungs and stomach. Blood was gushing out of the wound in a torrent. The teen started breathing in a ragged gurgle.

"Oh Gawd, Jack, I'm so sorry!" Clay cried, tears starting to flow from his blue eyes. The cowboy knelt on Jack's other side, trying to see to help around his tears.

"Hello? Emergency? I need an ambulance at the Xiaolin Temple right away!" Kimiko had her cell phone out and was putting it to good use. "Our friend is hurt bad; he's lost a lot of blood!"

Rai tore off his cherished leader's robe and pressed it over the wound. It was like pouring a glass of water on a forest fire. Tears starting to pool in his own eyes, the Brazilian boy shook Spicer by the shoulder.

"Stay awake, Jack! Stay with me!"

Clay added his own robes to the sodden mass on Jack's chest and belly. The large Texan applied as much pressure as he dared, trying to stymie the lake of blood spreading across the white stones of the courtyard.

"'m c-cold," Jack whispered, blowing bubbles of blood with his breath.

"The ambulance is on the way, Jack! Just stay with us!" Rai yelled, trying to stay in the line of the dazed red eyes.

"Rai?" Jack asked.

"Yeah? What is it, dude?"

"D-Do you . . . like . . . M-My Chemical Romance?"

"You want to talk about music _now_?" Raimundo almost laughed. Almost.

"They - they have . . . a song . . . c-called 'Teenagers'. . ."

"I haven't heard that one." The Brazilian looked up. The wail of an ambulance was echoing off of the hills surrounding the Temple.

"Love that s-song . . ." The blood bubbles were coming out of Jack's nose now. Clay was still applying pressure and it seemed to be helping. The cowboy was still sobbing uncontrollably, but he didn't let that stop him from being useful. Kimiko was still on the phone with emergency services and Omi . . . Omi was just standing, staring at the unimaginable horror before him.

"Well, when you get better, we'll listen to it together, okay?" Rai said. The ambulance was pulling onto the temple grounds now. Two paramedics in crisp white uniforms piled out of the back, medical equipment at the ready.

"Huh." Jack snorted, spraying blood across Rai's cheek. "J-just make sure . . . make sure they play it . . . at my f-funeral."

"No! No, you're not going to die!" Raimundo yelled.

Then the paramedics were shoving him out of the way, applying pressure, putting a respirator over Jack's mouth and bundling him onto a stretcher.

"You're going to be okay, Jack! We're going to listen to that song together!" Raimundo called out. The paramedics loaded the unresponsive goth into the back of the vehicle and tore off down the road towards the hospital.

The four dragons watched in silence as the ambulance sped away, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Not a word was spoken between them as they tracked the vehicle's progress. Just before it passed out of sight between the hills, the lights and siren were turned off.

Kimiko choked, whirling to dash back into the temple. Clay hit his knees, curling up with his forehead on the earth. Raimundo lowered his head.

"Why did they turn off the lights?" Omi asked quietly. Tears were trickling down his cheeks, but he wasn't sobbing outright. Not yet. "Why did they turn off the siren? How will people know to get out of the way?" The Dragon of the Water approached his leader, tugging on Rai's pantleg. "Raimundo? Why did they turn off the lights and the siren?"

"Because there's no hurry now, Omi." Rai whispered, not raising his head.

"But Jack needs to get to the hospital right away! How can there be no hurry now? Why-"

"Jack's dead, Omi."

The little yellow monk's eyes widened. He stared up at Raimundo in shock. Behind him, Clay was starting to sob; broken, wracking sobs that shook his whole body.

"Dead? B-but, that cannot be! It was an accident! Clay did not mean to-_we_ did not mean to! Jack cannot be dead!"

"Omi . . . he is. Go ahead and cry." Raimundo whispered, kneeling down. The Brazilian wrapped one arm around Omi's shoulders and pulled him close. After a moment, the little monk started to cry. "Clay! Clay! Clay!" The cowboy looked up. Rai grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Together, the three boys rocked and cried in the half-destroyed, blood drenched yard. They mourned for the death of a boy who had been an enemy at his best and an annoying friend at his worst. It was 7:32 p.m.


	2. Perchance to Dream

Jack Spicer's funeral was three days later. The monks showed up early, resplendent and somber in their formal robes. Omi started to cry as soon as he saw the casket. Clay seemed to have shut down. The cowboy hadn't said more than two words in the last three days. The blond Dragon pulled the brim of his black Stetson low over his blue eyes and kept his gaze on the floor.

There were more people than the monks expected; a group of boys Jack's age arrived all wearing the same black blazers and slacks and deep red ties. They all looked bored out of their skulls. Rai realized with a start that they were probably Jack's schoolmates. He hadn't even known that Jack went to school. Megan was there as well. The spoiled girl demanded attention and toys and seemed oblivious to the fact that Jack was dead. Mr. Spicer approached the casket once, then spent the rest of the service sitting in the corner smoking cigarette after cigarette. Mrs. Spicer took up station by the coffin, sobbing loudly that her baby boy was dead.

The four monks approached the casket. Jack didn't even look like Jack. His wild hair had been neatly combed, his eyeliner scrubbed off and his school uniform replaced his raggedy trench coat.

"He looks like Good Jack," Kimiko muttered, then gave a semi-hysterical giggle that morphed into a sob. "We were so mean to him, even when he was Good Jack."

"We kept getting stronger. We forgot that he had no one to train him," Omi whispered hoarsely, standing on tiptoe. "We got so strong that we forgot he was weak."

"He just kept fighting." Raimundo whispered. "He had no skills, his robots weren't that good, and he wasn't even very healthy. Why did he keep fighting? Didn't he realize he could be killed?"

"Shoulda brought the Monkey Staff," Clay muttered. "Was always 'is favorite wu. We coulda buried 'im with it."

"What if Chase or Wuya wanted it?" Kimiko asked. "Do you think they'd hesitate to rob his grave?"

"I brought these." Omi held up Jack's goggles. The left lens had been cracked and the strap was ripped but Omi had added on another strap, tying the new one on to the original. "He will be more Jack Spicer with his goggles."

Raimundo boosted the Dragon of the Water up and Omi slipped the goggles under Jack's hand.

"That's better," Rai said. "That's - that's a lot better."

"You're holding up traffic." The monks looked over to see Jack's schoolmates lined up to view the body. They were being corralled by three nuns and a Catholic priest. The speaker was a tall brunette with skin nearly as pale as Jack's. He didn't even glance at the casket.

"We apologize," Omi said. "We will take our seats for the service."

The Xiaolin Dragons withdrew and took their seats, except for Raimundo. Hesitantly, he approached Mrs. Spicer. He felt like he was going to his own execution. What was he supposed to say? 'Sorry we killed your son; it was kind of an accident, oh by the way, with his dying breath he asked me to make sure you played his favorite song at his funeral'?

"M-Ma'am?"

Mrs. Spicer looked up over her monogrammed handkercheif. Her makeup was impeccable and for a second Rai wondered how she kept her eyeliner from running while she cried. Mrs. Spicer gave Raimundo an appraising look.

"You're from the Xiaolin Temple, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"That's where - that's where my Jackie-" She trailed off, burying her face in her decorated hanky.

"Y-Yes, Ma'am." Rai rasped, feeling his throat close up. Mrs. Spicer's image was starting to dance and shimmer through the tears welling in his green eyes.

"I didn't even know he was studying martial arts!" The woman sobbed. "Now, because of some stupid training accident-!"

Raimundo didn't say anything. A 'training accident' was the lie the Temple had used to keep the authorities from locking them up in the funny farm. No one would have believed the local goth boy was plotting to take over the world through the use of magic items called Shen-Gong-Wu.

"W-was he good at it? Kung fu or whatever?" Mrs. Spicer asked.

"No," Rai admitted. "He sucked." A traitorous chuckle made it about half-way up his throat before dying. "H-He was pretty good at Monkey style," The Brazilian offered, feeling the need to say _something _nice about Jack Spicer.

"Monkey style . . ." Mrs. Spicer echoed, shaking her head. "I don't think Jack would pull off a very convincing monkey."

Raimundo did laugh then. Mrs. Spicer looked at him sharply, but her expression softened as she recognized the strained tone of the 'laugh or go insane' hilarity. Rai choked, laughter abruptly changing to sobs. The Xiaolin Dragon buried his face in his hands and cried with more fervor than he ever had before.

"Oh, there, there, honey." Mrs. Spicer stood and gathered Raimundo into a heavily perfumed embrace. "I-I'm just glad to know my Jackie had a good friend like you."

"I _wasn't_ a good friend! I made fun of him and laughed at him! When he came to train, I made his chores all harder even though I was glad he was there!" Rai insisted.

"I'm sure Jackie knows-knew you really cared about him." Mrs. Spicer said, rubbing Rai's back. "I know he would have considered you a friend even if you gave him a hard time. Knowing Jackie, I'm sure he gave as good as he got."

Sniffling, Raimundo nodded weakly. Mrs. Spicer continued to rub up and down the Brazilian's back.

"Well now, you certainly do train hard," she murmured. The woman's manicured hands traced Rai's well-muscled back appreciatively. He could only meet Mrs. Spicer's blue eyes in outright horror. She was hitting on one of her son's friends at _her own son's funeral?_

The Dragon of the Wind extracted himself quickly and fled back to his companions, all thoughts of Jack's song forgotten.

Somehow they made it through the service and waited respectfully while Jack's coffin was lowered into the ground.

Raimundo couldn't remember if anyone spoke. All the way back to the Temple, each Xiaolin Dragon remained silent, lost in his or her own thoughts. The silence remained intact as they retreated to their respective sleeping stalls. Kimiko turned on her radio.

Rai left his mind drift as the music washed over all of them. He didn't know what he thought about or for how long. He cried a few times, confused, helpless tears with no force behind them.

The thought struck him suddenly that he had never asked Jack's mother to play the song the evil genius had asked for.

Equally sudden was the realization that the song playing on the radio was the one Jack had mentioned.

'_They said all teenagers scare_

_The living shit out of me_

_They could care less _

_As long as someone'll bleed_

_So darken your clothes _

_Or strike a violent pose_

_Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me.'_

Raimundo didn't know how he recognized the song; he had never heard it before. It wasn't his type of music. He hoped, in a disjointed, inane sort of way that Jack wouldn't be mad.

'_The boys and girls in a clique_

_The awful names that they stick_

_You're never gonna fit in much, kid_

_But if you're troubled and hurt_

_What you got under your shirt_

_Will make them __**pay for the things that they did.**_'

Rai felt a cold chill. Without really knowing why, he rolled onto his side and looked at his clock.

It was 7:32 p.m.


	3. If I Ever Leave This World Alive

Little more than a week later, Clay Bailey left the Xiaolin Temple. The gentle cowboy simply hadn't been the same since Jack's death. And now he was headed back to Texas.

"Clay! No! Do not leave!" Omi wailed, wrapped around Clay's knee.

"I got to, partner." The blonde drawled sadly. "I killed a man. Not just that, but I killed a weak man that was just tryin' t' get away. If'n Jack and I had been fightin' face t' face, it would have been different. It would've been two warriors facin' off and one dyin' in battle. Not murder. But we weren't and it isn't and it is. I gotta go, Omi."

"Clay, it was just Jack Spicer! Don't run away for him!" Kimiko pleaded.

The Texan paused to give the Dragon of Fire a disbelieving look.

"I ain't runnin' away, Kimiko. I just need t' get things right in my head before I could ever think about fightin' again. The way I feel right now, I don't think I'd have the heart t' raise my hand against anyone."

"Hey, I gotcha, man." Rai said. "But you come back if you feel any better! Dojo'll always be ready to pick you up! Right, Dojo?"

"Of course," The mystical dragon whimpered, growing to his flying size. "Anything for my friends." A five gallon tear slammed into the cobblestones, causing Rai and Kimiko to leap back in alarm.

"No! Do not leave!" Omi reiterated, burying his face in Clay's pant leg. The Dragon of Earth let the smaller boy weep for a minute, then pried him off as gently as possible and climbed aboard Dojo.

They managed to reach cruising altitude before Clay burst into tears.

* * *

A few days later, the three remaining Xiaolin Dragons rode the Crouching Cougar back to the Temple.

"Chase Young is a formidable opponent!" Omi announced. "I was surprised we were able to retrieve the Serpent's Tail without Clay."

"Knowing Chase, it's probably Step #30 in some twisted plot," Raimundo sighed. He patted the now saddened Omi on the shoulder. "Don't worry, little guy. Clay will be back; he just needs to figure a few things. You'd feel screwed up to if – if _that_ had happened to you."

"I can't believe he's this upset over Jack Spicer." Kimiko said flatly.

Raimundo stiffened. The Brazilian twisted to look over his shoulder at his fellow warrior in disbelief.

"Kimiko!"

"What?! We hated the guy when he was alive and now that he's dead we're supposed to be all broken up?"

"Jack Spicer wasn't truly evil! Only weak and pathetic!" Omi protested.

"Don't speak ill of the dead, yo!" Rai cried, unsure exactly which one to scream at first. "He _died_ right on this road! If you go bad mouthing him around here, something bad'll happen!"

"Something bad?" Omi echoed, his eyes going wide. "L-like what?"

"Yeah, Omi, Jack Spicer will come back and haunt us!" Kimiko snorted, waving a hand.

Raimundo felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"Don't say that!" The Brazilian yelled.

"What? Don't say Jack's ghost will come back from beyond the grave to take revenge?" Kimiko taunted. "You're so superstitious!"

Rai scooted a little farther forward on the Crouching Cougar, trying to distance himself from the girl who was painting the occult 'Kick Me' sign on her own forehead.

"D-do you think Jack Spicer ate before he came to the temple?" Omi asked.

Wind and Fire stopped and looked at Water.

"Huh?" Rai asked.

"D-do you think he died hungry?" The Chinese boy asked, tears welling up in his eyes. "If he died on an empty stomach, he became a hungry ghost! Now he'll roam forever!"

"Really?" Rai asked, his voice rising in horror.

"Omi, that's a Chinese legend. Jack was American." Kimiko said flatly.

"He was born in China! He told me so!"

"These hungry ghosts; can they hurt you?" Rai asked.

"Oh yes! That is why a bowl of rice is always offered at funerals!" Omi gasped out loud. "There was no rice at Jack's funeral!"

"Oh no!"

"You guys are ridiculous!" Kimiko snarled. "Jack is not going to come back and haunt us! In fact," The Japanese girl threw her arms out as if addressing the entire universe. "I hereby _invite_ the ghost of Jack Spicer to come seek his revenge on us!"

"**No**!" Raimundo and Omi howled in the same breath, clutching each other tightly.

Against all odds, nothing happened. The sun continued to shine, birds kept singing, and no big black things came up to snatch them away.

"See?" Kimiko offered.

"You just cursed us!" Raimundo wailed, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"Oh stop it! The odds of Jack haunting us are about as likely as this hitchhiker getting a ride all the way out here!" The Dragon of Fire yelled, gesturing to a lonely figure standing by the side of the dirt track, one thumb upraised.

Omi was crying at this point. Rai hugged the smaller boy, turning away from Kimiko pointedly.

"Fine." Kimi growled, folding her arms across her chest.

"Kimiko?"

"What, Rai?"

The Dragon of Wind paused before he continued, as if he really didn't want to know the answer.

"What hitchhiker?"

Kimiko managed to stop herself from looking around. Rai was just trying to freak her out. If she looked, that meant she believed Jack was coming back.

"You aren't funny, Rai." She snapped.

* * *

A few hours later, a local farmer delivering a load of pigs to the Xiaolin Temple passed along the same stretch of road. The man happened to look in his rear view mirror. He started to look away again, but his eyes snapped back to the mirror.

A pale youth in a ragged black coat was sitting in the back of the truck with the pigs. His red hair hung wild down over his eyes and a pair of yellow goggles were hung around his neck, the left lens cracked. The farmer could see where the strap had been torn and a new one tied on.

The man twisted to look out the back window of the pickup truck. How had the kid gotten on board? He hadn't stopped since he left his farm and – there were nothing but pigs in the back of the truck. The farmer looked back to the mirror, but it confirmed what his eyes had just told him.

Shaking his head, the farmer turned his attention back to the road. He must have just not been paying close attention; it was a trick of the shadows under the trees or something.

It was very astute of the farmer to think this.

Because if he had _really_ been paying attention, he would have noticed all of his pigs had plastered themselves against the back of the truck and, to a swine, were determined not to go within a foot of the tailgate.

* * *

Kimiko sat in the meditation garden by herself, stewing quietly. It wasn't that she didn't believe in ghosts; she did. She had to, after all the things she had seen.

But the fact was, Wuya had been an incredibly powerful witch who had terrorized the ancient world and her ghostly form was incapable of anything other than annoying Jack. What could Jack do? Nothing, that's what! Jack could never do anything! He was always nothing, he simply hadn't realized it when he was alive.

"I'm glad he's dead." She said petulantly. "There: I said it."

There were footsteps on the paving stones behind her. Kimiko whirled, mortified at being caught saying what even she would admit was a horrible thing.

There was no one there.

The Japanese girl frowned, then shrugged. Clay must have been practicing his Seismic Kicks. From a distance, the dull thumps sounded a bit like footsteps.

A musical tone caught her attention. Kimiko's PDA was beeping for attention. Kimi cheered up instantly. It was too early for her friend Keiko to be out of school, but maybe she had ditched.

_NotthePoet1925: Thanks for the invite._

Kimiko frowned. She hadn't invited this guy to chat. But, sure enough, the top of the screen read:

_KajiOnna357 has invited NotthePoet1925_

Odd.

_KajiOnna357: Sorry, we must have gotten a wire crossed. I didn't actually invite you._

_NotthePoet1925: Yes you did._

Kimiko frowned again. There was something odd about the way the messages were coming up, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. At least he hadn't asked for pictures of her naked yet.

_NotthePoet1925: Could have given me a lift, though._

_KajiOnna357: What are you talking about?_

_NotthePoet1925: I was hitching a ride, but nobody saw me but you _

Kimiko got a cold chill.

_NotthePoet1925: Kimiko_

Kimiko just managed to stop herself from slamming the PDA against the stone bench she sat on.

"Damn it, Raimundo!" She screamed. Without another thought, the Dragon of Fire leapt to her feet and tore off in search of the Brazilian monk. When she heard his voice through a window, Kimiko ran in to berate him immediately.

"You aren't funny, Raimundo!" Kimiko howled. "How dumb do you think I am?! You make up a fake screen name and pretend to be Jack and I bet you think you're a genius!"

The Japanese girl was so intent on screaming at Rai she didn't seem to notice certain things. Like how Rai screeched and curled up into a small a ball as possible.

"Like I wouldn't instantly know it was you?! You're such an immature idiot, Rai! All I have to do is check the ISP and trace it back to the computer . . .you're . . . us-ing . . ."

Kimiko slowly trailed off. It suddenly dawned on her that Raimundo was curled up into a small ball trying to hide behind a washcloth because he was, in fact, naked. He was naked because he was in the shower. In the _men's_ bathhouse, to be exact.

Kimiko felt her cheeks burn with a sudden furious blush.

Rai got himself together enough to scream at his teammate.

"Dios Mio, what's wrong with you?! Get out get out get out get out!"

Kimiko whirled, her face as red as a tomato. She dashed back outside, keeping her eyes riveted to the floor. There were other monks bathing and a flash of yellow let her know Omi was in the there, too. She was **so** going to hear about this from Master Fung.

The Dragon of Fire ran back out into the courtyard and hid behind a tree. Her PDA chirped for attention.

_NotthePoet1925: Don't think Rai showers with a computer._

It dawned on her. The messages weren't popping onto the screen; they were scrawling across the window one letter at a time, like they were being typed directly into the message window. Instant messaging didn't work like that.

_NotthePoet1925: You were in the boys' room. Ha. Ha. Ha._

The PDA's MP3 player suddenly kicked on.

'_Teenagers scare the living shit outta me_

_They could care less _

_As long as someone will bleed_

_So darken your clothes_

_Or strike a violent pose_

_Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me!'_

Kimiko quickly shut the device down. The digital clock flashed at her before the LCD screen went dark.

It was 7:32 pm.


	4. Things That Go Bump in the Night

Dojo gasped as the door to the tower housing the Shen-Gong-Wu vault swung open almost violently. There was no one there.

"Oh, you about gave me a heart attack," the mystical creature sighed. Footsteps strode across the floor to the vault, even though there was no one visible to make them. "Warn me next time you're going to play with the Shroud of Shadows!"

There was no answer, but the vault slid open, the steps grinding downwards.

"Fine, be that way!" Dojo retorted. "Besides, I could hear the boots. I know it was you, Clay-ay-ay . . . ." The dragon trailed off.

He had delivered the cowboy to his home nearly a week ago. Kimiko wore boots sometimes, but the strong, heavy stride definitely belonged to a male. The dragon slithered forward, peering down into the vault. It was empty.

He knew he should go down into the vault and check to see if the Shroud of Shadows was in it's drawer. He knew he should also check to make sure the vault was empty. Dojo did consider doing these things, truly he did.

But then there came a scratching noise from _inside_ one of the drawers.

From inside the drawer that housed the Monkey Staff, to be precise.

Still Dojo hesitated. They were Shen-Gong-Wu, after all. They did odd things sometimes. Then, there was a loud bang, as if someone was trying to jerk the Monkey Staff out of its drawer without opening it first.

Dojo shrieked in alarm and shot for the door.

* * *

Omi had just finished his chores and was heading for the bathhouse when he came across something surprising.

The Monkey Staff was lying across the garden path.

The Dragon of Water looked around.

"Hellllllloooooo? Raimundo? Kimiko? Master Fung? Who has left a Shen Gong Wu just lying in the middle of the garden?!" He demanded.

No one answered him.

Omi huffed and snatched up the Monkey Staff, striding back to the vault. Without pausing, he opened the vault, stomped down the stairs and put the Staff back in its drawer. This chore attended to, the little monk left the vault building and strode back towards the bathhouse.

Half-way there, he found the Monkey Staff lying across the garden path.

Omi paused for a very, very long time.

Slowly, gingerly, he reached down and picked up the Staff. A sudden breeze gusted through the leaves.

Omi could swear the wind carried a nasty snicker to his ears.

Shivering hard, the Dragon of Water hurried back to the vault, throwing the Staff back in its drawer and _slamming_ it shut. The little monk let out a sigh of relief.

There was a quiet rattle from inside the drawer.

Omi knew, without a doubt, if he opened the stone drawer, it would be empty.

Erring on the side of cowardice, Omi hurried back out of the vault and ran for the bathhouse.

But he didn't cut through the garden this time.

* * *

"I said I was sorry!" Kimiko sighed.

"You can't just-- run on a guy like that!" Rai growled.

"Sorry . . I just . . .something weird happened. I thought you were messing with me." The Japanese girl sighed, looking at her PDA.

"Something weird? Like what?" The Brazilian asked.

"Nothing! It's dumb, I just . . . I heard Clay practicing his Seismic Kicks and I thought—I thought it sounded like footsteps."

"Clay?" Rai cut in. "Clay's been gone for a week. This was yesterday, right?"

Kimiko stopped, blinking in surprise.

She had sworn she heard . . . maybe she was remembering wrong.

"I – I guess I was remembering wrong," Kimiko said quietly.

"Awww, Kim, come on; you don't have to be so angry all the time. Jack's death freaked up all out. You were crying at his funeral, too. It's okay to be freaked out over it," the Dragon of the Wind said softly.

"Angry? Who's angry?! I'm not angry!" Kimiko snarled.

"Listen. Bite my head off if you want to, but I think I know why you've been so irritated. Jack's death scared you, heck, it scared all of us. It scared us _bad_. I know how you hate to seem like you're vulnerable, but you're human, Kimiko. You have feelings and its okay." The Brazilian monk said quietly.

Kimiko glared at him. Her fists clenched at her sides tightly, trembling a bit as she fought with the warring emotions in her chest.

On the bench behind her, Kimiko's PDA chirped for attention.

The Japanese girl shrieked in fear, leaping forward into Raimundo. After a moment, she recognized her friend Keiko's ring tone.

"Oh, oh, it's just Keiko," she gasped, sagging in relief.

"Kim?" Raimundo stared at the girl clutching him in bafflement.

A hot blush suffused her features and she leaped back, snatching up her PDA and running down the garden path.

"What the heck is wrong with her?"

As the young leader shook his head, his eye caught a flash of yellow. Omi was walking through the garden. Well, 'walking' was perhaps too strong a word. The Xiaolin Dragon of Water dipped and dodged, whirling around as though he expected to find someone behind him. Gradually, he made his way to Raimundo.

"What's wrong with you?" Rai asked bluntly.

"Er . . . . . .nothing. Um, only . . . . .do you not feel like someone is watching you?" Omi asked, sneaking looks around the garden.

"_You're_ watching me," The Wind Dragon pointed out, but then stopped. Now that Omi mentioned it, there was a hair-raising, prickly feeling of being stared at; being stared at by someone who was not fond of you _at all_.

Raimundo shivered.

"Yes! That feeling! I have been having it all day!" The little monk cried. "I was going to take a bath, but between Kimiko's sudden urge to see us naked and this feeling I was afraid to!"

Raimundo choked, trying desperately to smother a laugh.

"I-I don't think Kimiko's going to walk in on us again, Omi," he snickered.

The little monk looked unconvinced, looking around the garden nervously.

"Will you take one with me?" Omi asked.

Raimundo stopped laughing abruptly.

* * *

"I can't believe this," Rai muttered, gathering up soap and shampoo.

Omi splashed in an oversized tub, his fear seemingly gone.

"Do not forget the towels, Raimundo! If Kimiko's urges overcome her, we should be able cover ourselves quickly!"

Rai hung his head, snickering.

"Sure, Omi."

The Brazilian went to the front of the bathhouse, where stacks of linens were kept in neat cupboards.

Omi splashed water up over his bright yellow skin, shivering at the feeling of the hot water on his skin. Then he shivered again, and not from the pleasant feeling of warm water.

That feeling was back.

Someone was staring at him; practically boring holes in his head with their eyes, but there was no one else in this corner of the bathhouse.

Omi huddled down against one side of the immense wooden tub, looking around nervously.

"K-Kimiko? You shouldn't stare at naked men, you know! It is very rude!" He offered the empty space.

Silence greeted him, not so much broken but cracked by the distant sound of conversation.

Omi forced himself to relax.

"_Omi_ . . ." breathed a voice in his ear.

The little monk flung himself to the other side of the bathtub, looking around wildly. From what he could see, he was still alone.

"R-Raimundo?"

That voiced hadn't sounded like Raimundo. It sounded very, very familiar, but not like Raimundo.

"_Ooooooommiiiiiiii . . . . . ._" The voice seemed to sweep past the young monk quivering in the bathtub.

"J-J-J-J-Jack S-S-Spicer?"

That was when he was grabbed by the ankles and dragged under the water.

The Xiaolin Dragon of the Water fought violently against the force holding him under. He could feel, _feel_ a pair of hands on his chest, holding him down. He could feel the fingers digging into his chest.

But when he struck at his attacker, his fists went through nothing but water. Omi choked, trying to cry out without drowning as the water pressed in tight.

In hindsight, he must have only been held underwater for about a minute before the force abruptly went away.

Omi burst up out of the water, gasping and crying.

Someone was still staring at him.

This time, it was Raimundo.

"Omi?" The Dragon of the Wind held a stack of towels in his arms. "Are you okay?"

The little yellow monk burst into tears, flinging himself out of the water to clutch desperately at his friend and leader.

* * *

Kimiko was chatting listlessly with her friend Keiko, talking of friends back in Japan and who was dating whom and mundane, safe problems.

She was still chatting when Raimundo rushed across the courtyard, carrying a choking, crying Omi in his arms.

"Master Fung! Master Fung! Something attacked Omi!"

The Japanese girl froze for a minute, her mouth sagging open.

Then a sound came from her PDA.

"_All together now!_

_Teenagers scare the living shit out of me!_

_They could care less as long as someone'll bleed_

_So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose_

_Maybe they'll leave you alone, __**but not me**_!"

Kimiko screamed and quickly shut down her PDA.

Again, the clock flashed before the power went off.

It was 7:32 p.m.


	5. Ashes Unto Ashes

Raimundo lay on his side in his sleeping stall, not sleeping.

The footsteps were back.

Slow, deliberate steps of booted feet paced up and down the room, not attached to any physical person. The floorboards creaked as they took weight that wasn't there, while grit from the soles of dirty boots cut into the highly polished wood.

Raimundo knew he'd be cleaning it up in the morning.

For some reason, his initial terror at the haunting had dulled to a sort of numb horror. Rai had made phone calls home to his family and gotten some advice from his mother, grandmother, and aunts.

Now a circle of protective salt surrounded the sleeping stalls.

Protective charms straight from a priest of Santeria were winging their way to the Temple via International Air Mail.

There was a whimper from Omi's sleep mat.

"Ssshhh," Rai said. "He can't come in the circle."

"I can see his shadow," the little monk whispered.

As the footsteps paced up and down the length of the room, the full moon threw a spiky-haired shadow across the blankets separating the sleeping stalls. When it went across the open end, there was no one there.

Raimundo reached over and lifted up the blanket between his stall and Omi's. Instantly, the little yellow monk shot out from under his blanket and burrowed under Raimundo's. The Brazilian sighed and cuddled the frightened child close to him.

"He can't get us. He's just trying to scare us," The young leader murmured.

A strangled whimper from his chest.

Rai looked down, hoping to catch Omi's eye for more soothing reassurances. Instead, he saw a black mass standing in the opening of his sleep stall. It was outside of the ring of salt, but the right size and shape to be you-know-who.

Then, abruptly, it disappeared.

* * *

Kimiko huddled against a pillar in the chamber over the Shen-Gong-Wu vault. Why did she have to stand night watch? Rather, why did she have to open her big fat mouth and volunteer for night watch to show up Rai and Omi?

The wu had taken to disappearing from the vault and showing up days later in random places around the Temple. Rai and Omi blamed the ghost of Jack Spicer, which Kimiko refused to believe. It was just some creepy stalker that kept getting into her PDA, not some creepy dead boy.

And the footsteps that echoed up and down the hallways were just . . . just the temple settling! After the first thousand years or so, the floorboards tended to shift in cool weather. Yeah, that sounded plausible.

So why was she so utterly terrified? It wasn't Jack, even if the footsteps were from distinctly booted feet, or the fact that the only way to keep the Monkey Staff in one place was to duct tape it to the wall.

So what if it was Jack, anyway? He was only annoying! It's not like he could hurt her. Kimiko stopped, her breath catching in her throat.

There was a scratching noise.

There was a scratching noise from inside the vault.

The Dragon of Fire stood up slowly. Okay . . . no stress; it was probably just a mouse or something. Let's just ignore the fact that with the vault sealed, there weren't even stairs to walk down for the first twenty feet or so. Kimiko swallowed heavily and took comfort in the fire bowls blazing around the room.

She was the Dragon of Fire, after all; she was no slouch in the supernatural ass-kicking department. She was not afraid of noises in the dark.

"Yeah, I'm not Jack; I'm not scared of the dark!" Kimiko bragged to the world in general.

Behind her, one of the fire bowls abruptly went out.

The Japanese girl yelped, whirling. There was no wind. No water leaking from the ceiling. One shallow bowl filled with hot oil had just spontaneously decided to stop burning. Its brothers around the room continued to blaze. Kimiko swallowed with effort.

"Must be . . . bad oil."

The scratching noise sounded inside the vault again.

"It's just a mouse!" Kimiko insisted. The soft scrape of stone on stone reached her ears.

"A mouse that can . . . open the drawers in the Shen-Gong-Wu vault."

Two more of the fire bowls started guttering low.

Kimiko screamed as a sudden cacophony sounded from inside the vault. It sounded like someone took a box full of pots and pans and threw them down the stone steps. Her heart in her throat, the Dragon of Fire turned towards the entrance. There was no way she could ignore that; she had to go see what it was. The two low fire bowls stopped burning. The remaining two were having trouble as well and it occurred to Kimiko that it was getting very dark in the chamber. The vault would at least have torches.

The Xiaolin warrior opened the vault and crept down the steps, her heart in her throat. Just past the point where the steps became stationary, Kimiko found the Fist of Tebigong lying on the steps.

It must have fallen.

Yes, fallen; despite the fact that the drawer for the Fist was further down in the vault. Trying to ignore the fact that her instincts were screaming for her to run very, very far away, Kimiko continued down the steps, finding more Shen-Gong-Wu strewn about as though thrown by a temperamental child.

The sputter of struggling flame from above caught Kimiko's ear and she looked up just in time to see the chamber above the vault go pitch black as the last fire bowl died. Ice water flowed through the girl's guts as darkness pressed in above her, somehow suffocating. The torches in the vault still burned.

That was all right.

Kimiko would just put the wu back, and then go get Master Fung and calmly explain that the intruder must be tunneling in somehow.

The Japanese girl straightened from retrieving the Star Hanabi and screamed as she found herself looking into a deathly pale face with a huge pair of shining lenses beneath it.

Kimiko flung herself backwards, sprawling up the stairs. The wu in her hands clattered down the stone steps as she struggled to get away. And stopped as she realized she was looking at the Helmet of Jong, the Crystal Glasses propped up beneath it.

Kimiko nearly cried with relief.

Man, did she feel stupid! But at least -

The highest torch in the vault stopped burning. The one below it guttered as the lowest torch went out as neatly as if it had been snuffed.

"N-no . . . . " Kimiko whimpered. Heedless of her pleas, the next highest torch went out as the nest lowest started to gutter.

"No. No, no, no!"

They were going out more quickly now, the darkness rushing in as if it couldn't wait to wrap its clammy hands around her.

"No! No! Help! Somebody help me!" Kimiko screamed, all pride gone. She screamed again as the last torch went out. The blackness was all around her, all consuming. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, she couldn't breathe in the darkness!

"W-wudai Fire Mars!" In her terror, Kimiko's chi slipped and slid away from her control.

"Wudai Fire Mars!" This time, she managed enough focus for a tiny flame, no bigger than a candle. It still gave light and cut through the darkness. Kimiko didn't even mind when it touched the pale white 'face' and yellow lenses of the Helmet of Jong and the Crystal Glasses.

. . . . . . hadn't they been below her before?

Every iota of her screamed denial, but Kimiko felt her head turn slowly and look up at the pale, smooth face and non-faceted lenses next to her.

Before she could even think of reacting, the 'Helmet of Jong' leaned down and blew out her flame.

Kimiko screamed like a wounded horse. She screamed as she leapt back out of instinct and felt the ground disappear from beneath her feet. She screamed as her body plummeted down the void between the steps and the wall. She kept screaming right up until her head slammed into the bottom of the vault, cracking her skull open as neatly as the Mosaic Scale had all those months ago.

Kimiko Tohomiko, Xiaolin Dragon of Fire, died.

In the sudden silence that filled the vault, the torches began to burn again.

Just before the fire chased the last of the shadows from the stairwell, a dark figure could be seen looking down at the corpse.

Just before concerned voices began calling the dead Dragon's name, a very sensitive ear could catch a whisper of :

' . . .loser . . .'

Kimiko's precious PDA lay in pieces, the LCD screen dimming as the electricity died. A few numbers flashed on the screen. There might have been a seven and a two there.

The speaker hissed briefly and a few definable words stuttered out.

" . . . .-agers scare . . . . . . someone'll bleed . . ."

Then the spreading pool of blood from Kimiko's body drowned the struggling electronic device.


	6. Dust Unto Dust

Back home on the dusty plains of Texas, things were much different. Clay Bailey carefully backed his father's truck up to the loading dock of the local co-op.

"One ton of the regular, two hundred pounds of sweet feed, one hundred of dog food and fifty pounds of chicken feed, right Clay?" The man on the dock asked.

Clay inclined his head politely.

"That's right, Mr. Pecos."

The young man's voice was soft and subdued, but polite as always. He had come back from China a changed man.

"Well, I'll load th' feed for th' cattle an' horses, you go on inside an' get your dog an' chicken feed."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Pecos."

The blonde turned and went into the co-op's office to pick up his small feed. Mr. Pecos sighed, shaking his head. Something had happened to that boy; something bad.

Clay ducked his head and went into the building. Like all co-ops in middle America, it was part feedstore, part hardware store, part convenience store and part community center. Five young men his own age were gathered around the bulletin board, supposedly looking for part time jobs, but really just hanging out and talking.

Three older men were looking through a catalogue of farm equipment and offering opinions on the products therein. Two ladies were picking through nylon halters and leadropes and a cattle dog war snoring heavily atop a pile of cat food bags.

"Well now, if it ain't Clay Bailey! Ol' Walker, Texas Ranger his own self," a voice announced.

Clay turned back towards the bulletin board. The boys by the bulletin board were all kids he had gone to school with. He opened his mouth to form a greeting when Johnny Betty Pecos came out of the backroom with fifty pounds of chicken feed slung over one shoulder.

Like the other boys, Clay had grown up with Johnny Betty. He had first noticed she exsisted in the second grade, when they got lumped together in the 'terminally easy-going' category. Her family ran the co-op, so Clay had seen her at school, on trips to get feed, she had worked on hay crews, on cattle drives, and every autumn the local bonfire/cookout was held at the co-op.

She was even-tempered, easy going, fun, and happy. The only time Clay had ever seen Johnny Betty cry was when he had left for China.

They were both fourteen when Clay went to China and he remembered his old school friend as just growing into the tall and gawky stage, where she was all knees and elbows like a newborn filly.

There had been some changes since he'd been gone.

Johnny Betty was still tall, but now the secondary descriptive adjectives that sprang to mind were 'long', 'lean', and 'curvy'. Clay couldn't say she didn't have an ounce of fat on her, because she did, but it was in all the right places. Her ever-present black pigtails were gone, leaving her thigh-length hair to swish and sway with every step. Her big brown eyes were as warm and inviting as a pot of melted chocolate.

In blue jeans, cream-colored cowboy boots and pink T-shirt with the John Deere logo on the front, she was every inch a country boy's dream.

"Clay Bailey! As I live an' breathe!" She squealed, throwing down the chicken feed.

The dark haired girl ran forward and threw her arms around Clay, or at least as far as she could reach.

"J-johnny Betty?!" Clay gasped, flustered. After a moment, he hugged his old friend back. "Lord have mercy, you're prettier than a speckled pup!"

"I heard you'd come back from China, but you ain't been t' see me once!"

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly in th' mood for celebratin' when I come back," Clay sighed, subsiding.

"Did somethin' happen?" Johnny Betty asked.

"Yeah, Clay Bailey ain't said more'n two words t' nobody since he come back!" Snapped the original speaker.

Clay blinked at the dark-haired boy who strode forward, a frown on his face.

"Hey there, Chad," Clay began. "I – I had a lot of things on my mind."

The other youth glared at Clay, then shifted his gaze back to Johnny Betty, who returned the cool look with one just as icy.

"You sure you just had things on your mind?" Chad asked nastily. "You sure you just ain't too good to talk to us now that you been around the world?"

"Naw, naw, it ain't nothing like that," Clay protested.

Chad glared at Johnny Betty again.

"'Cause we got enough people who think they're too good for the rest of us as it is," he said pointedly.

"Keep a civil tongue in yer head, Chad Wagner!" Johnny Betty snapped. "I already told you I won't go out with you 'cause you're an ass!"

Clay tried to insert himself between the dark-haired pair as gently as possible.

"Now, it ain't worth fightin' over," he drawled.

"Oh, it ain't worth fightin' over? I thought that's what you were doin' over in China, Mr. Kung Fu Chuck Norris!" Chad snapped.

"It was tai chi. An' there's a lot of things ain't worth th' price," Clay said sadly.

Chad shoved the larger boy roughly.

Clay stumbled back a step, but made no move to retaliate.

"Chad, seriously, son; it ain't worth fightin' over."

"Damn it, Wagner, don't make me break out a horsewhip on you!" Johnny Betty cried.

Chad shoved Clay back another step.

"Come on, Bailey, let's see your kung fu!"

"I ain't gonna fight you, Chad," the blonde said sadly, his arms resting at his sides.

The other boys in the store were starting to spread out, dropping words of encouragement or insult or both to the boys.

Without warning, Chad lunged forward and punched Clay in the mouth as hard as he could. Clay didn't even stagger, just sighed and tongued his now bleeding lip.

Chad's eyes widened slightly.

They widened a great deal more when Johnny Betty stepped up and brought a carriage whip down across his back. As he turned to face his attacker, she did it again, laying a welt across his chest and stomach that left him howling.

"If you're just gonna start trouble, then you gotta _leave_, Chad Wagner!" JB announced, giving the bully a good, old-fashioned horsewhipping.

Chad's cronies burst into laughter as their ringleader was chased out of the store by a pretty girl with a buggy whip.

After Chad had retreated out of the door, a few of them gave Clay a calculating look but as the blonde casually lifted one hundred and fifty pounds of animal feed onto one shoulder as if it were nothing, they went over their calculations again.

Clay headed back out to his truck, determined not to meet anyone else's eye.

Out in the parking lot, Johnny Betty took a break from chasing the unfortunate Chad back to his own pickup. She took one look at Clay's downcast eyes and decided she could beat Wagner later.

JB jogged back to Bailey's side.

"Why didn't you pound Chad? He totally deserved it!" Johnny Betty protested.

Clay wiped the blood from his split lip and tossed the feed sacks up onto the back of the pickup.

"It wasn' worth fightin' over," The blonde said, opening the truck door and sliding in.

"What happened in China?" The dark haired girl asked.

Clay stopped, staring off into the distance.

"I'm . . . I ain't th' man I thought I was," Clay said. "I done . . . .somethin' terrible."

The cowboy's childhood friend looked at him for a minute, her head cocked to one side. She knew Clay well; she'd been in love with him since the second grade, when he was the only one in the class who would eat her attempt at jelly cookies.

"Clay, if you did do something bad, I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"I still did it."

"Is that why you wouldn't defend yourself in there? 'Cause you think you deserve to be punished?" She asked.

Clay didn't answer, just started the pickup truck.

JB sighed, put one foot on the running board and propped herself up enough to lean in the open truck window and kiss Clay on the cheek.

"Just 'cause you done a terrible thing don' automatically make you a terrible man." She said. "You be careful driving home."

Clay Bailey watched with wide eyes as the girl walked back into the co-op building. A slight blush tinted his cheeks as began the long drive back to the Bailey ranch.

For a long time, he kept his mind carefully blank, only engaging his brain enough to drive safely.

About twenty miles into the drive, he finally let himself smile. Johnny Betty had kissed him. Sure, it was on the cheek, but a kiss was a kiss! Should he be feeling good? After all, Jack Spicer would never know what it was like to be kissed by a girl. He'd never have to get pushed around by bullies, either. But . . .was Clay allowed to feel good? Especially so soon after he had killed a man?

JB didn't think he deserved to be punished so severely. And maybe settling out of the combat of the Xiaolin/Heylin war was enough. Maybe just living as a peaceful man was enough. Maybe--

In the oppressive Texas heat, Clay suddenly felt very cold.

Mind-numbingly, terribly cold. The shock of blonde hair that fell over Clay's right eye flipped up in the breeze from the open window and the cowboy caught a flash of red, white, and black in the passenger seat.

Despite the cold, Clay started to sweat profusely. His hair fell down over his eye again and the former Dragon of the Earth really, _really_ wished he gotten a haircut when he came home.

Slowly, his heart hammering in his chest, Clay turned his head to the right.

Jack Spicer was sitting in the passenger's seat.

He didn't look like the annoying youth that showed up at the Temple on a regular basis to annoy and/or rob the vault. His crimson hair hung limply down over his eyes, completely ignoring the breeze that tore though the cab of the pickup. Streaks of blood still ran from his mouth and nose, not dripping, but staining the snow white skin in nearly black streaks. Jack's goggles hung around his neck; Clay could see where Omi had tied a new strap.

"Hey there, Jack." Clay said, his voice shaking only slightly. "I reckon you come t' take your revenge."

Jack's head moved slightly, tilting towards Clay as if he were listening from a long way away. He still didn't look at the cowboy.

"Can't say I blame ya. You were so young; you had your whole life ahead a' ya an' I took it away. I don't deserve to be livin' a peaceful life in a place I love, while pretty girls kiss my cheek. It don' matter that I didn't mean t' hurt ya. It don' matter that I'm sick at heart ev'ry minute a' ev'ry day." Clay stated a lot more calmly than he felt. "So, if'n you're here t' kill me or steal my soul an' take my body, all's I can say is please be nice t' Johnny Betty. I know she likes me."

Jack's head moved slightly and for the first time, Clay could see his eyes. They watched Clay carefully, but he still didn't make a move or speak.

"I know it don' make a difference, but I'm really sorry. I never meant t' cause ya any harm."

Jack simply continued to stare at the Texan. After a long moment, the ghost of Jack Spicer tilted his head towards the windshield, in a look that said: You _might_ want to look where you're going.

Clay turned to look towards the road just in time to see the grill of a semi tractor fill his field of vision. Bailey gasped, wrenching the steering wheel sharply to the right. The heavily laden pickup truck lurched sluggishly back into its own lane. The bumper of the semi caught the tail end of the truck bed, spinning the driver's side back into the path of the tractor. Livestock feed scattered across the highway, mixing with broken glass from the shattered windshield.

An SUV swerving to avoid the suddenly braking semi T-boned the pickup. The two vehicles spun off of the road in a tangled mass of metal, glass and helpless humanity.

The semi driver brought his wounded vehicle to a halt and ran back to the two smaller vehicles.

"Hey! Heeeeeyyy! You all right?!" He called.

The driver of the SUV was trying to wriggle out from behind an airbag. The passenger was doing much the same. From the back seat, the trucker could hear the 'I just got the crap scared out of me' wail of a small child.

The driver of the old pickup truck didn't have an airbag.

The blonde youth slumped over the steering wheel. Blood was splattered across the dashboard and as the professional driver watched, blood began to drip from the bottom of the truck door. The radio skipped between stations and for a few seconds, a song became audible.

'_. . . troubled and hurt . . . _

_. . . .under your . . . _

_Will make them pay for the things that they did._'

"Awww, God! Son?! Can you hear me?!" When there was no answer, the trucker pulled the cell phone off of his belt and hastily dialed 911. As he waited for the call to be picked up, he peered into the mangled remains of the pickup's passenger seat.

"Where'd the other one go?"

"911, what is your emergency?" A polite voice inquired.

"Yeah, there's been a bad accident on Highway 183! You gotta send an ambulance! I think this kid's dead!"

The dispatcher took note of the time of the call.

It was 7:32 p.m.


	7. Fear Not Drowning

Raimundo wasn't sure exactly how he was holding himself together as he waited for someone to pick up the phone. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Kimiko was dead.

How could she be dead?

The only thing that anyone knew was that they'd heard a scream and gone into the vault to find Kimiko at the bottom, evidently dead from a long fall. Part of Rai kept insisting that it wasn't right: The Dragon of Fire had lived through deadly battles for the last three years with nothing but minor injuries, only to die falling down the stairs?

Another part of Rai suggested she might have had help falling.

"Bailey residence," sighed a voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh, um, hi . . . . . Jessie, right? You probably don't remember me. This is Raimundo from the Xiaolin Temple. This is Clay's little sister, right?"

There was a long pause. For a moment Raimundo thought he had the wrong number, but the sad girl's voice came back.

"Yeah. Yeah, this is Jessie," she stated, punctuating the sentence with a sniff.

"Can I talk to Clay?"

"No."

"Uh, it's kind of important," Rai tried. "It's about Kimiko."

"You can't talk t' Clay 'cause he ain't here," Jessie said thickly.

Something about the way the girl was speaking seemed forced. There was definitely something wrong.

"When will he be home?"

"I don' know!" Jessie blurted suddenly, tears breaking through the façade she had put up. "There was an accident! I – I was ridin' my bike up towards town when I saw th' ambulances . . . . he was hurt so bad they had t' call in a helicopter! I rode with 'im t' th' hospital in Abilene! His heart stopp'd twice on th' way there!"

Raimundo's face was slack in shock.

"Th' – Th's doctor's have got 'im stable now, but he ain't woke up yet. They said . . . . they said he might never wake up an' – an' – an' if he does, he'll be in a wheelchair th' rest of his life!"

Raimundo's jaw hung slack. After a while, he found the presence of mind to speak.

"Kim – Kimiko's dead."

"W – what?!" Jessie asked, sniffling.

"Kimiko died last night," Rai started carefully. "She fell down the stairs. Wh-what happened to Clay?"

"He was in a car accident," Jessie repeated. "One of th' other drivers said he was on the wrong side a' th' road."

"Why would he drive on the wrong side of the road?"

"I don' know," Jessie muttered.

"Did –" Rai broke off, not believing he was going to ask this question. "Did anyone see someone with him?"

The long, long pause from the other end of the phone answered his question.

"Th' semi driver said he saw a redheaded kid in the passenger's seat," Jessie stated. "But there wasn't nobody there."

Raimundo had a long, long pause of his own.

"Raimundo?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I heard you," Raimundo sighed quietly. "If – When Clay wakes up, will you tell him about Kimiko?"

"All right," Jessie said.

Raimundo didn't remember if he said goodbye. He didn't remember if Jessie said goodbye. He just remembered setting the phone down on the cradle with an audible 'click'.

Raimundo stayed in Master Fung's office for a long, long time. His hand continued to grip the old handset of the non-cordless telephone - a model that was almost antique by his standards, even though it was only fifteen years old.

His mind played through all of the information he knew about the strange phenomenon that had occurred since Spicer's death.

He remembered, especially, Kimiko's scoffing cry - inviting Jack to do his worst.

Remembered that Kimiko had been the only one to see someone on the side of the road a few moments later.

"That's gotta be it," he said softly. "Gotta be."

Forcing his fingers to uncurl from the phone, Raimundo got up and went in search of Omi.

They had to prepare.

Jack had finished with Clay.

Now that all that remained was he and Omi.

Raimundo couldn't help the wild shudder that thrashed through his body as he realized that, even at that very moment, a dead boy was probably watching him with malice in his ghostly eyes.

* * *

Search though the Dragon of the Wind might, Omi would not be found in the Temple. He wouldn't be found because he wasn't there.

Omi had no mental barriers against the belief in the supernatural; he had been raised on histories of magic and good and evil. Ghosts were no great leap in logic for him.

He _knew_ Jack Spicer had returned from the grave to seek vengeance. He knew it the instant Kimiko had invited disaster upon them all. Now he went to seek help from the one person Jack Spicer respected above all others.

If anyone could convince the dead boy to stop his attacks, it was Chase Young.

The yellow-skinned monk levered himself up over the edge of the platform leading into Chase's castle. The fire bowls burning merrily around the edges of the platform took the chill out of the air and Omi dusted himself off and started for the entrance.

As he drew nearer, his spirits rose. Of course Chase Young would be able to stop this; the dragon lord detested Jack Spicer and went out of his way to vex the albino genius.

Omi stopped.

The flames in one of the fire bowls suddenly parted and bent as neatly as blades of grass pushed aside by an unseen hand.

The Dragon of Water froze, feeling a cold chill grip him to his very bones.

Then, against all expectations, nothing else happened.

Omi was still bitterly cold, but he hurried forward into the inviting warmth of Chase Young's lair.

The little round one, the soft-sweet one with that tantalizing odor of goodness and niceness and a streak of lean muscle that undoubtedly flavored the flesh just so came into their home. Warriors - ancient, proud, strong - gathered in a hunting circle around the young monk.

They would not attack; not yet. They were under orders from their master to let the little one remain unmolested.

But the scent of him teased them and made them rumble in vicious hunger.

Omi drew himself up to his full, unimposing height.

"I am here to see Chase Young," he announced haughtily. "I wish to speak with him."

The Dragon of Water tried to fight back the urge to shiver and rub his arms. He was still cold; so very cold even though he was inside now.

Above him, around him, there was a ripple of darkness; a muffle of not-sound; a soft, smug snort.

Omi whirled, looking behind him, but seeing nothing.

But the warrior cats saw something.

They could not attack the little monk.

Jack Spicer, however, was most definitely on their hit list.

A tiger - large and powerfully male, and so very hungry - was the first to leap towards the smirking, taunting, red haired apparition.

A bone-shattering roar filled the air as the great cat leapt, claws extended, fangs bared for the mauling bite.

Omi felt the charge more than heard it and leapt high to avoid the pouncing cat.

"Why do you attack me?!" He demanded. "I mean you no harm!"

Over his shoulder, as if the speaker were leaning over and whispering in his ear, a deathly cold voice whispered:

'Here, kitty, kitty.'

Omi whipped his head towards the sound, leaving himself wide open.

An agile jaguar was next.

Its leap towards the white-skinned specter sent it crashing into Omi, flattening the little monk beneath its weight.

The automatic flex and dig of its claws as it powered forward towards Spicer left four gaping rents in the yellow chest.

Omi screamed in pain, crashing gracelessly to the ground.

A laugh, easily discernable and mocking, echoed through the lair. Crouched on the floor, curled around the wounds in his chest, Omi saw out of the corner of his eyes two long legs clad in black jeans spread out in front of him, as if their owner were sitting right on his shoulders.

A lion loped forward, roaring majestically even as it punched forward with a paw. That paw went through the ghost, and when the lion leaped back in surprise, its claws caught on a large, round head and dragged.

Another scream ripped from Omi's throat as the lion left lacerations in his head. Realizing the cats would tear him to shreds; the Dragon of Water pushed himself up on his hands and knees and began to crawl towards the door. His hands slipped and slid in the torrent of blood that gushed from his head wounds.

"Ooooooomiiiiiiiii," Jack breathed, the source of sound spinning and whirling around the wounded monk's head.

"N-no," Omi whispered, feeling light headed.

The apparition was no longer important in the warrior cats' awareness.

The scent of pain/terror/blood was.

Especially the blood.

Trembling, snarling, the cats crept closer and closer to Omi - stalking the little monk; deep in the grip of single-minded instinct that demanded food.

"No! No, I cannot die! I am . . . too magnificent," the little monk protested weakly, still dragging himself towards the entrance.

The disembodied laughter rang out again, this time with a touch of true hilarity to it.

The cats raced forward - each determined to get a hunk of the blood-scented flesh.

Screaming shrilly for all of four, perhaps five seconds, Omi was torn apart as lions and tigers and jaguars vied for the tender morsels of fatty thigh, luscious giblets, and salty brains.

When Chase arrived in the courtyard a few seconds after the gory feast had begun, he found himself staring in shock as what was left of Omi quickly disappeared into the gullets of his warriors.

A translucent Jack Spicer stood nearby, watching the warriors consume Omi.

He was singing a song under his ghostly breath.

"Teenagers scare, the living shit outta me,

They could care less, as long as someone'll bleed

So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose,

Maybe they'll leave you alone—"

The specter suddenly whipped his head towards Chase Young.

"But not me!"

A two hundred year old clock in a nearby anteroom began to chime the half-hour. Seven-thirty in the evening . . . . but that clock was always two minutes slow.

In the next instant, the shade of Jack Spicer was gone.


	8. Rest in Peace

"Oh God, no

"Oh God, no!" Raimundo moaned as the warlord stepped into the Temple courtyard.

Chase Young regarded the Wind Dragon coolly, then gathered a small bundle he held in his arms. Rai whimpered again when he saw the bloodstains on the fine cloth.

"Oh no . . . ." He moaned.

Inside the swaddle of brocade, bloody bones had been carefully gathered along with a few scraps of red and black fabric. They still bore the teeth and claw marks of Chase's warrior cats.

Chase Young lowered the tatters remains reverentially to the Temple's front step.

"No, no, no . . . . Omi!" Rai wailed, tears coursing down his cheeks. "Why didn't you stop him?!"

Chase raised an eyebrow at the abrupt tone.

"The ghost of Jack Spicer enacted revenge on you monks for killing him. What makes you think I would have interfered?"

"You _LIKED_ Omi!" Rai protested, kneeling by the pathetic scraps of flesh and bone that had been his friend up until a few hours ago. "Why didn't you save him?!"

Chase sighed and looked down at the mortal remains at his feet.

"A challenge was answered. As a matter of honor, I could not interfere."

A raw sound of pure pain tore from Raimundo's throat.

"Two of my friends are dead!" He wailed. "And Clay's in a coma!"

"Two of my students are dead," Chase returned. "Though our relationship was rocky, Jack Spicer was still my apprentice. If I were you, young monk, I would save my grief."

Rai blinked up at the warlord as Chase Young turned away.

"After all, there is still _one_ Xiaolin monk Spicer hasn't attacked."

The Brazilian monk's eyes grew wide as Chase let out a wicked laugh.

"Have a care, Dragon of the Wind!" he chuckled.

In the next instant, the Heylin lord was gone.

* * *

Omi's funeral pyre was a brief thing.

The warrior cats hadn't left much.

Afterwards, Raimundo had been tense, stressed and jumping at every shadow and creak in the floor.

Against all expectation, the ghostly noises had stopped.

No more footsteps haunted Rai's bedroom. Small objects stopped moving around on their own. Dark shapes ceased flitting across his peripheral vision. Despite all of this, Raimundo knew he wasn't alone.

He could _feel _Jack's presence.

The ghostly youth was still there, still watching, still waiting.

The only time Rai got any relief from this feeling was when he left the Temple grounds to gather supplies. After a few days, he leapt at the chance to run every stupid, pointless errand he could just to get relief from the heavy, oppressive feeling.

Unfortunately, he always had to return.

Nearly a week after Omi had died, Dojo slunk up to the one remaining Xiaolin Dragon.

"Um," the dragon began eloquently. "A Shen Gong Wu just went active. You think you're up for this?"

"A Shen Gong Wu?" Rai echoed. Somehow, in the horrors of the previous month, he had forgotten about the existence of the Shen Gong Wu. How completely shitty would it feel to hunt for one alone?

He looked away as he wrestled with his feelings.

And saw Jack standing at the end of the hall.

By the time Rai blinked, the apparition was gone.

"Uh . . . yes! I am up for a Shen Gong Wu hunt! Definitely! Let's get out of here!" Raimundo declared with unseemly haste.

Without waiting for an explanation of the Shen Gong Wu, the Brazilian snatched up the dragon and bolted out into the courtyard.

* * *

"It's called the Helmet of Mercury; it's a teleportation Wu, like the Golden Tiger Claws. Just put it on, think where you want to go and you're there!" Dojo announced.

"Cool," Rai muttered without feeling.

"You sure you're okay?" Dojo asked.

"No," Rai answered.

"All right, fair enough," the dragon sighed. He was snaking through the sky towards the new Wu.

"All my friends are dead and there's a vengeful ghost after me," Rai elaborated. "How are you _not_ okay?! Everybody's dead!!"

"Raimundo; I've lived for fifteen hundred years. I've had more human friends die than you can even imagine."

The young monk blinked in shock at the statement. It made perfect sense, of course, but it was something he had never even thought about.

"But . . . you were always snuggling up to Omi . . ." Rai murmured weakly.

"I did. I've cuddled Master Fung every day of his life, too. I'll never forget the sweet smell of Kimiko's perfume, or the cozy warmth under Clay's hat. Just like I'll never forget how Clay reminded me so much of Jun Shan who lived four hundred years ago I suspect he was a reincarnation of that other monk. Dragons live a long, long time, Raimundo. We are travelers across time. Always have been, always will be."

Rai considered this.

"Some human philosopher said that a person still lives while they are remembered. In that sense, those who are loved by dragons live forever in our hearts. We may forget the piddling things, like where we left a magical sword a couple of thousand years ago, but we remember the important stuff; like how Ravi used to braid me into his hair while I was sleeping. Or how Omi sucked his thumb in his sleep until he was nine years old. Whenever and however _you_ die, Raimundo, I'll always remember you, too."

"Thank you," Rai said quietly.

"Don't mention it. We're here." Dojo circled down to land outside of a steel mill. "The Helmet of Mercury is in there."

"Okay. I'll get it." Rai slid off of Dojo's back and started to enter the factory. Then, he turned back and hugged the dragon's head. "Thanks. Thanks for everything."

Then the last remaining Xiaolin Dragon walked into the steel mill to retrieve the Shen Gong Wu.

* * *

Five minutes into the search, Rai realized his brief reprieve from haunting was over.

Footsteps echoed along the corridors. Dark shapes flitted through the shadows cast by the molten steel. Metal rattled without any visible help.

The state of semi-calm Raimundo had experienced while riding Dojo was completely gone. He did his best to try to search for the missing Wu. His natural inclination was to head for high ground. Wind powers aside, he had grown up on the trapeze; heights were absolutely no problem for him. Every time Marcello the Strong Man had gotten drunk and gone on one of his rampages, his parents had sent him and all his brothers and sisters up to the tightrope to wait it out. In Raimundo's mind, height equaled safety.

This was probably why he found himself up on the catwalks above the molten vats of steel.

When he heard music, Rai about suffered a heart attack. Clinging to the railing tightly, the Brazilian monk forced himself to calm long enough to realize it was coming from a radio secreted among the pipes for the enjoyment of the steel workers. It was most certainly _not_ playing anything by _My Chemical Romance_.

He found the tiny clock radio on top of a large cooling pipe and gave it a cold glare.

It was 7:31 p.m.

For some reason, this chilled him to the bone.

Rai yanked the plug out of the extension cord. In an instant, the music stopped and the clock went off.

Flinging the cord down, Rai turned away to continue his search.

Behind him, the radio clicked on again.

The Brazilian monk slowly turned.

The radio was innocently playing popular music while the clock proudly proclaimed it 7:31 p.m. the cord dangling loose and free.

Some part of the monk's mind screamed in terror, but Rai shook his head.

"Batteries," he growled. "It just switched over to battery power."

Fear transformed itself into anger. Rai grabbed the radio, flipped it upside down and tore open the battery cavity.

It was empty.

Green eyes grew wide.

Rai flipped the radio back over.

The clock switched over to 7:32 p.m.

The popular music fuzzed into static and angry, emo goth music pumped through the tinny speakers.

"_'All together now!_

_Teenagers scare the livin' shit outta me!_

_They could care less as long as someone'll bleed!_

_So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose,_

_Maybe they'll leave you alone,_

_But not me!'_"

Raimundo yelped and flung the radio away. It bounced down the catwalk, shedding bits of cheap plastic before finally coming to a rest in the middle of the corrugated steel floor of the catwalk. In the next moment, a fifty-foot section of catwalk sheared off as neatly as if it had been snipped out by a pair of giant scissors.

The noise echoed through the factory as the walkway crashed to the ground level, part of it falling into the vat of molten steel below.

Rai hunkered back against the railing.

Oh God . . . this was it . . . . Jack was going to kill him now!

Boots clunked against the steel walkway behind him. Raimundo whirled again. There was something on the shining steel; something dark and shining.

A bootprint.

A bootprint in what looked like blood.

Another footstep echoed on the metal and another bootprint filled in. It was odd how it worked; as though the invisible boots were filled with blood and every step forced the fluid out to coat the soles of his boots.

Another step.

And another.

Raimundo backed away quickly, realizing the footsteps were quickly closing in on him. Behind him, the broken catwalk hung over the empty space, the boiling molten steel waiting to engulf whatever fell into it. Rai glanced across the hole to the othe side of the catwalk. Fifty feet; too far to jump, but he could fly.

Couldn't he?

Could he harness his Wudai powers when he was scared out of his mind? Had Kimiko tried to summon fire to banish the darkness? Had Clay thought to surround his body with stone to protect him from crushing? Had Omi tried to summon water to blast away the cats?

If they had, they had all failed.

Rai backed up to the edge of the broken walkway, his heels hanging over the edge.

The footsteps continued their relentless march forward, until they finally paused mere inches from Rai.

Slowly, color and depth filled in the footsteps, until the shade of Jack Spicer stood in the bloody footprints. Jack was still bloody and light flashed through the gaping hole in his chest. His previously bright eyes were now dull, dead, and lifeless.

"'M – 'm –'m sorry," Raimundo whimpered. "'M sorry I forgot to tell your Mom about the song! I'm sorry we were mean to you! I'm sorry you're dead!"

Tears started to pour down the Brazilian's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

Jack took a step forward.

Rai screamed out loud and a sudden warmth down his legs let him know he'd pissed himself from sheer terror. Unable to jump, unable to back away, the Dragon of the Wind screwed his eyes tight shut and stepped _forward_.

There was a moment of unbearable, bone-chilling cold.

A chill he felt straight down to his marrow; the cold of death, the freezing pit of endless night. Rai would never be able to forget that cold, especially in the dark of the night years later, after drinking too much. From now on, in Raimundo Pedrosa's mind, Hell was a cold place.

The Brazilian monk tripped and fell across the catwalk. For a moment, he flailed on the corrugated iron before he remembered to open his eyes. Flinging himself onto his back, Rai stared up at the ghost of Jack Spicer in terror.

Jack stood at the edge of the broken catwalk, one semi-transparent foot actually standing on air. The ghost stared down at the terrified boy for a moment, then grinned. His shoulders shook lightly and after a moment, as if the electronics weren't quite hooked up right, the sound of a laugh.

Jack Spicer laughed loud and long before disappearing.

* * *

"He left Raimundo alone?" Bao asked, her dark eyes wide. "B-but if Jack Spicer killed Kimiko and Omi, why did he let Raimundo and Clay live?"

"Ah, but you see, little one, _all_ of the monks had the chance to live. Kimiko could have left the Vault, Omi could have remained in the Temple instead of walking into a literal lion's den. Clay and Raimundo were truly penitent and they showed it. Jack accepted their apologies." Master Yaoh answered.

"Clay ended up in a coma! That's not exactly what I call accepting an apology!" Mike insisted.

"Clay came out of his coma eight months later. He remained in a wheelchair for four years before he refined his elemental powers enough to be able to heal his spine. He married his high school sweetheart and his daughter trained as a Dragon before you came."

Yaoh paused to take a sip of the strong brandy that he held in one hand.

"Jack has been seen in the Temple many times since then, but he has never offered to hurt anyone else. I do not believe he would have been able to hurt the warriors who killed him if he hadn't been invited to do so. So the next time you battle Jin Spicer, remember what happened to her grandmother's cousin. If you don't – **_something like that might happen to you!_**" Yaoh whirled and flung his brandy into the fire pit, causing the flame to roar up nearly to ceiling.

The screams of the Dragons in training echoed across the peaceful Chinese countryside.

Dojo looked up from his newspaper.

"I hate Halloween," he muttered to no one in particular.

Yaoh laughed wickedly.

The young monks were curled up in a tight ball, clinging to each other tightly. Mike blinked first, then glared at his teacher.

"That wasn't _funny_!" he bellowed.

"Yes it was!" Yaoh corrected, snickering.

"I think I may have wet my pants," Bao whimpered, her cheeks burning.

"Ah . . . no, Greta spilled her drink on you," Ali corrected, pointing to the discarded cup.

"Oh, come now; Halloween isn't Halloween without a good scare. Tell your own stories now and don't stay up too late," Yaoh murmured. "Good night, my young Dragons."

The teaching monk ran his finger around the rim of his brandy glass and licked the appendage appreciatively before strolling casually out of the room.

A sour scowl on her face, Bao stood up and wiped at her sodden pants.

"Not funny," she agreed.

"Well . . . . maybe it was a little," Mike conceded, grinning ruefully.

"Uh . . ." Ali whimpered.

Greta had her arms wrapped tightly around the Dragon of Fire and was starting to sob. The Morrocan boy's eyes were wide open and a hot blush was burning on his cheeks.

"It – it was only a story," he offered.

Greta whimpered and shook her head, burying her face in the curve of Ali's neck.

"I've _zeen_ him!" she shrilled.

"What? Seen who?" Mike asked.

"Jack Zpicer! I've _zeen_ him!"

"What?!" Bao's eyes went wide again. Wet pants forgotten, she flopped down next to Greta and Ali. "You've _seen_ Jack Spicer?! When? Where?!"

"W-when I firzt arrived at zhe Temple! I waz wandering around, looking at thingz and they were having a feazt in the dining room! I zaw a boy with red hair and white zkin standing juzt outside zhe door. I waved to him to come in, but he wouldn't! I looked around to zee if anyone else waz around, but when I looked back he waz gone!" Greta wailed.

"I've seen him, too," Bao whispered.

The other three Dragons looked at her.

"Last year, when Mike and Ali were being mean to me, I went down to the reflecting pool to pout. I was kicking at the water lilies and I fell in. I can't swim. I couldn't yell for help. I felt someone pulling me up and I saw a boy with white skin and red hair looking back at me. When I climbed out of the water, he was gone."

Mike looked at the empty glass Greta had spilled thoughtfully.

"Time for another Halloween activity," he announced.

Fifteen minutes later, the four Dragons were seated around the dinner table. The empty glass was upside down in the middle of the table, while a circle of white cards with every letter of the alphabet surrounded it. On one side of the circle, a card bearing the word 'Yes' interrupted the letter cards, while on the opposite side, the word 'No' broke the flow.

"Easy peasy," Mike announced. "We each put a finger on the glass and ask questions. If the ghost of Jack Spicer _is_ around, he'll spell out his answers."

"Thiz iz a Ouija board!" Greta announced, horror in her voice.

"You know a better way to talk to a dead boy?" Mike asked.

The Dragon of the Earth whimpered. Under the table, she groped for Ali's hand in a desperate attempt to connect with someone who was also against this craziness. Ali flinched and looked down at his hand in shock. He flinched even harder when Mike grabbed his other hand.

"Come on; everybody has to do it," the British youth instructed.

"I don't want to!" Greta whimpered.

"For a German, you sure are a pansy," Mike observed, dragging Ali's free hand up to touch the glass.

Greta's mouth dropped open in offended horror as Bao grabbed her hand and forced it up to the glass.

"Come! Jack Spicer has been trapped in the Temple for one hundred years! If we can help release his spirit; think of how wonderful that would be!"

When all four Dragons were touching the glass, Mike cleared his throat.

"All right; here we go. Is there a spirit present who would like to talk with us?"

The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to deepen, but nothing else changed.

"If you want to speak with us, please move the glass," Mike said.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the glass scooted sideways an inch or so. Greta instantly keened in distress. The glass picked up momentum and slid in a wide, powerful circle around the table.

"You are moving it!" Ali declared, his eyes wide open.

"Am not. Is this the ghost of Jack Spicer?" Mike asked.

The glass circled and came to rest next to the 'Yes' card.

"Wow. Um . . . are you trapped here? Is that why you're still here?" Bao asked.

Another circle and the glass came to rest next to 'No'.

"Are you . . . . waiting for something?" Mike asked.

'Yes.'

Bao gasped, her eyes going wide.

"I know! You're sorry for being evil and you're not going to cross over until you've made up for all the bad things you've done, right?!"

The glass scooted sideways for a second, then slid towards the 'A' card. After it touched that, it slid towards 'S'.

'A-S I-F.'

"Az if?" Greta echoed.

"Uh . . . ok-ay. Is there something we can do to release you?" Mike asked.

'Yes.'

"And your spirit will be released and you'll be free!?" Bao asked with a grin.

'Yes.'

"What do we need to do to release you?" Mike asked.

'S-E-R-P-E-N-T-S T-A-I-L R-E-V-E-R-S-I-N-G M-I-R-R-O-R.'

THE END


End file.
